Informed
by Rex
Summary: Gilderoy Lockhart is out of the nuthouse and in the real world...this is the darkest thing I've ever written. Extremely dark...extremely twisted...and the most different Lockhart fic you'll ever read. Prequel to Election. A drama/thriller/comedy.
1. Cookie

Informed

Chapter 1: Cookie

A lone figure sat in a hospital room. A nurse was giving him his food, even though he was asleep. He would wake any minute. She looked over the golden haired man one more time before leaving the room. _Shame he lost his memory...we could have gotten _Troublesome Teaching: My Adventures at Hogwarts_...I think that was the book he was writing..._

The man in the hospital room was only being held there temporarily. The Ministry of Magic was trying to decide what to do with him. This man in the room...he had no idea what to call himself, but the wizard world had known him as Gilderoy Lockhart.

* * *

"I say we kill him," said Doctor Darius Cornelius. "He's obviously never going to gain his memory back."

"Kill him? Are you insane? He's just insane now; and for all we could be know, this could be temporary. He wasn't using _his_ wand," stated Doctor Wright Galen.

"It doesn't matter. I say transfer him to a short-term stay at an asylum before we transfer him to an extremely long stay at one of our long-term asylums out of the country," said Doctor Donald Maximus. The small pupils behind his glasses danced stared at the other four doctors with a peculiar intensity.

"And what long-term asylum do you have in mind, Doctor?" Doctor Wright asked. His face was in a frown; but then again, it always was.

"I have my ideas..." Doctor Maximus said.

"I agree with Donald. I think we should study him and make a decision based on our observations," Doctor James Zira said.

"You make him sound like he's an ape or something," Doctor Cornelius stated. There was a pause as Doctor Zira tried to come up with a reply.

"After what's happened to him, he's not much more than one," Doctor Zira said. He looked at the other doctors and nodded to Doctor Honorious.

"Colleagues...fellow doctors, Doctor Zira and I have compiled this report on the mental state of Gilderoy Lockhart, as observed from the Muggles video cameras we have hidden in his hospital room and bathroom. I believe you'll find this interesting. We will screen the footage in three hour blocks starting tomorrow," Doctor Honorious said in his monotone as he handed every doctor in the room a folder.

"You're sick, Thomas. Cameras in the bathroom? Come on..." Doctor Galen said.

* * *

A man in a white coat entered Room 138 at the Charles Logan Memorial Hospital for the Magical. This man, a certain Doctor James Zira, stared at the subject in the bed , who had definitely lost the luster he had previously had, currently eating. It seemed so odd...the man's hair was in a mess, going up in all ends. Nothing like the previous Gilderoy Lockhart.

"What the heck do you want? Who the heck are you? Why isn't anybody answering my questions?" asked Gilderoy Lockhart before he gulped down a glass of milk. "Why can't I leave my room?"

"Hello, I'm Doctor James Zira."

"What are you here for? Why am I here?" Gilderoy asked.

"That doesn't matter now," James assured as he pulled a chair next to Gilderoy's bed.

"Yes, it does. Answer my questions first," Gilderoy said. "Or I won't answer yours."

"Well, you're at Charles Logan Memorial Hospital, Room 138. You...um, pulled your hamstring. I'm your doctor," James said. "What do you think your name is?"

"My name?" Gilderoy asked. "Well, I like to be called Cookie. I mean, I guess it's my name...after all, the first thing they said to me when I woke up here–I was asleep for a long time–was 'Cookie?' I guess you see the logic in that." Gilderoy smiled and ate some of the pudding on the tray elevated above his bed.

"Yes," James said. He checked his pocket. Yes. His tape recorder was recording. "So, Cookie, do you remember anything about yourself?"

"Not really...but I guess a hamstring injury is pretty bad. I don't remember anything about myself. Does a hamstring control your brain or something like that?" Gilderoy, or Cookie as he liked to call himself, asked.

"Something like that," James said. This was definitely a long-term case. "Cookie, I think you're gonna be this hospital in no time."

"Really? And what makes you think that?" Gilderoy asked. "You haven't healed my hamstring; I can't remember anything about myself. I don't know my last name, but I think it's Chip. And I think my middle name is Chocolate. My parents must have been odd, naming me after food." James tried not to crack up. Gilderoy delivered all this with a straight voice, his voice trailing off at the end. He was like a child.

"Um, we're transferring you to a place where we can heal your hamstring because...it's too...uh, severe to treat completely here. So I'd like to move you without delay to the Roberta Magnate Memorial Asylum for the Ill," James said, leaving out the word "mentally." He surveyed the lime green hospital room around him. Everything was so plain.

"Do you have a travel brochure on it? I like to read travel brochures on places; that's the only thing I remember about myself," Gilderoy said.

"I'm sure I could get one," James replied with hesitance. "I will arrange the move. Goodbye, Cookie."

And with that, Doctor James Zira left Room 138 of the Charles Logan Memorial Hospital for the Magical.

* * *

A day later, a nurse wheeled into Room 138. "Mister Chip," she said, stopping near his bed, "we're ready to transfer you to the Roberta Magnate Asylum for the Mentally Ill." The man in bed pondered for a moment. Did he just hear what he thought he did? There was no chance he was mentally ill.

Nah, he hadn't heard it. "Okay," he said. "I'm ready to get that bad hamstring of mine fixed." The nurse rolled her eyes. Doctor Zira had certainly pulled some tricks on this one.

"Well, step right in." Gilderoy Lockhart eased himself up from the bed's covers and plopped onto the ground. He got up and slowly made his way toward the wheelchair. "Yes, that's it...nice and easy now..." Apparently, losing half your mind meant losing some memories of walking.

"Thanks," Gilderoy said as he fell into the hard seat of the wheelchair. "Let's head out," he stated, pointing to the door.

"Whatever you want, Mister Chip," the nurse said. She pushed him out the door, into the lime green hallway of the hospital. The hospital itself was only three floors, and they were on the bottom.

This crazy man soon found himself in the lobby. He pointed to the door. "Sun," he said. The nurse nodded.

"Yes, that light is definitely coming from the sun, Mister Chip. Now first, let's have a nice bathroom break..."

She wheeled him into a door labeled "AUTHORIZED PERSONAL ONLY."

* * *

Gilderoy Lockhart emerged from the door, wearing a straightjacket. _"I don't want this! Leave me alone!"_ He ran across the lobby as a group of men neared closer to the main door of the hospital, each fashioning nets.

"I'm not crazy!" Gilderoy yelled as he struggled to run without the use of his arms. They swayed from side to side as he ran up the stairs.

* * *

"Follow him!" Donald Maximus said from outside, yelling at his men. "I was anticipating this, James." He motioned to the men behind him in white robes. "Get him!"

The men ran inside the hospital door, which was currently showing the reflections of Doctors James Zira and Donald Maximus.

* * *

Joel Coen didn't need this, working for the Ministry on a dumb situation like this. He was a member of the Sirs, with his name changed to that of a film director, like all Sirs. His previous name had been erased from existence.

The Sirs were the Ministry's top agents, their intelligence group and more. They were merely a rumor to the world that no one believe. People knew who the Unspeakables were. You could never know a Sir. The Ministry would make sure of it.

Joel had been trained vigorously three years ago after being identified as one of the best of the best of the best of the Unspeakables. It had been tough, but Joel believed it was worth it. But he just couldn't get why the Ministry would need such a high profile group on such a low profile job like this. But he was married to his job, and he wasn't going to stop now.

He had just entered the main lobby of the hospital and paused, checking his surroundings.

"Joel, take the stairs," said Lucas George. Joel nodded. He grabbed up one of the younger Sirs, Scott Ridley.

"You, come with me," he said, pulling him across the floor to the stairway. The young man was intimidated by Joel.

"Let go of me!" he said as Gilderoy Lockhart closed the doors on them, kicking them. Gilderoy ran up the stairs quickly. _He's very physically fit, _Joel observed.

Gilderoy Lockhart stared back at Joel through the small window. The pupils on his eyes were small, staring at him with the intensity of Tarzan. He looked as if he was the ape man as well. _He's insane._

* * *

Gilderoy turned from the door and looked up the stairs. Hopefully the door was locked. He couldn't do anything about it besides kick it; he could not use his hands thanks to the straightjacket.

Up he ran, going up the floors. He was out of breath by the time he made it to the top. He stared intently at the large window next to him. He then peeked out the door, checking to see if anyone was coming.

No one there. Gilderoy turned his attention back to the large window. He wasn't going to live like this. No, Sir, not in a straightjacket. He wasn't crazy.

Was he? Gilderoy shrugged it off and stared down at the ground. Yes, this was most definitely worth the jump. _Here goes,_ he thought as he rammed into the window.

The window didn't budge.

* * *

"I don't think you have to be so violent, Donald. Yes, I think the Sirs are necessary but not this many," James Zira said to his colleague.

"What's that?" Donald asked James, pointing to a window on the top floor. "There's something trying to break that window."

"Is that Gilderoy?" James thought aloud. "He's trying to break the window open!"

"It's only a three story fall, James," Donald Maximus said. "He can't die."

"You can die by falling down the stairs," James said. "We need to save this man."

"You have a spot for him or something?" Donald asked. _No matter how much I don't want him to die, if he wants to commit suicide he can. It's less work for me,_ he thought to himself.

* * *

Gilderoy's shoulder hurt considerably. _I'm going to run at it; it has to break then, _he thought. Gilderoy backed up to the wall and ran towards the window. He screamed as the glass broke. His life did not pass by him. He only saw the men standing under him.* * *

Four minutes later, Gilderoy Lockhart opened his eyes. He saw a huddle of people around him, almost all dressed in white lab coats. They were murmuring to themselves.

Two of the doctors pulled away. They were chatting about something. But how had he survived? That was beyond him. It was almost as if magic was at work...wait, there was no such thing as magic.

Right?

* * *

Doctor Maximus stared at James Zira blankly. James pointed down at Gilderoy, on the ground trying to figure out how he had survived the fall.

"How?" Donald asked James.

"Cushioning spell," James said with a smile. "Worked for my brother."

* * *

"Welcome to your room, Mister Chip," stated Doctor Felicia Alberta. "Have a pleasant stay."

Gilderoy surveyed his surroundings. His room was bizarrely like a hotel room with padded walls. In a corner was a large bed with an elegant cypress night stand. Gilderoy walked over to it and knocked on it. Would somebody come out the little door at the bottom? No, didn't think so.

Unknown to Gilderoy, he was in the Roberta Magnate Asylum for the Mentally Ill; his memory had been erased, all prior knowledge of his jump to the ground gone.

He turned around, looking at Doctor Alberta. "Well," he said, "I do have to take a shower."

"We like to give sponge baths," Doctor Alberta said with a slight twinkle in her eye.

"Don't even think about it," Gilderoy said. He pointed to the dark red door. "That the bathroom?" Doctor Alberta nodded, smiling.

"Yes," she said. "Would you like me to see you in?" Gilderoy shook his head. His hair was neatly combed, and he certainly did not appear to be insane. But appearances could be deceiving.

"I'm perfectly capable of opening the door by myself, thank you very much for your kind offer. Now please leave me be," Gilderoy said nicely with a smile. _He certainly hasn't lost that charm, _Doctor Alberta thought.

Doctor Alberta nodded and shut the door to Gilderoy's room. Gilderoy stepped into the bathroom and fiddled with the tub.

* * *

Gilderoy Lockhart emerged from the bathtub, having slipped in it twice and having seen more blood than soap. His head hurt immensely, and you could make out small dots of red in his blonde hair. He collapsed onto the floor, tired and bleeding. The bathroom could do harsh things.

* * *

"Oh, God..." Gilderoy said to himself as he woke up two hours later. "Cookie, get a hold of yourself." Gilderoy shook his head around crazily and jumped into the bed.

* * *

_The bright sunshine hit Gilderoy harshly, nearly blinding him. Gilderoy shielded his eyes as he ran across the city street, filled with traffic of all kinds–pedestrians, cars, animals...it went on. He jumped through the traffic, the cars honking at him. Gilderoy stared back at the cars with a look of fear. He was mad._

Then one caught his eye. It was a blue compact car, halted as it waited for the traffic to move once more, which it did not seem to want to do. Gilderoy stared at the car, his eyes open. The driver stared back at him blankly. Then he ran towards the car and jumped gracefully to the top and stared at the yellow sun. This time he didn't shield his eyes. Why? Gilderoy began to yell.

And Gilderoy woke up. He checked his clammy skin. His back was freezing, his teeth chattering. It was just a dream; it wasn't reality. Right?

Gilderoy went back to bed.

* * *

Gilderoy woke up that morning at around 8:00, or so he believed. Who knew if the clock was right? He had no idea whether or not the clock had the right time.

Gilderoy's head popped up first, his eyes surveying his surroundings. He eyed the strange picture on the wall...where those eyes moving? And just who was that?

Gilderoy lifted the covers up gently, unaware of whether or not they were covers. This was all confusing. They covered him; but they could so easily kill him, smothering him to death. Scary thought.

Gilderoy wiped his hair behind his head and stood up. His feet hit the cold floor, and they certainly weren't ready for it. He heard the door open.

"Rise and shine!" said a bright, happy voice, one Gilderoy recognized as the woman that had shown him to his room last night, Doctor Felicia Alberta.

"Hello," Gilderoy said. "I'm pretty tired." Felicia smiled. She was a middle-aged woman that had been a doctor for a few years now. Her hair was a dark brown, her naked eyes brown as well, though not nearly as brown as her hair. She was wearing simply dressed in a white button down shirt and a khaki skirt.

"Well, so am I; but you don't see me complaining!" Felicia exclaimed in her bright, happy voice. Gilderoy nodded.

"Look, I need to get dressed," he said.

"Oh...do you need any help getting dressed?" Felicia asked Gilderoy, who was shocked. Gilderoy certainly didn't remember getting these types of advances from women. But then again, he couldn't remember much from his life. It was strange, but he felt as if he had always wanted to start over with his life. Perhaps he was just drawing conclusions about his life–why else would he not know anything about it?–but perhaps he was wrong. Maybe he had amnesia. He might never know about his previous life...but his mind told him it had been one big lie.

"I'm fine, but thank you for your kind offer," Gilderoy said.

"Sure thing, Cookie. Call on us if you need help." Felicia shut the door. Gilderoy quickly dressed, choosing a yellow polo shirt and a pair of khaki pants. He studied himself in the mirror, modeling for it.

"What do you think?" he asked the mirror. The mirror's golden border seemed to shrug.

"You look good, but do tuck in the shirt," the mirror said in an elegant voice.

"Excuse me?" Gilderoy asked the mirror. "Tuck in my shirt? Wait a moment, you're a mirror. Mirror's aren't supposed to talk. This isn't right." Gilderoy looked back at the mirror, which shrugged once more.

"Do follow my advice. You'll have a good day if you do," the mirror told him.

"How should you know?" Gilderoy asked. The mirror seemed to smile.

"Mirrors are pretty psychic. We're not here just to make sure you look good," the mirror told Gilderoy.

"Oh..." Gilderoy said. He finished buttoning the polo shirt and slipped on a pair of slippers, then looked back at the mirror.

"I'll see you around, uh..." Gilderoy said, not knowing what to call the mirror.

"They call me Dipisni," the mirror said. "The Mirror of Dipisni." Gilderoy nodded.

"Good day to you, Dipisni." Gilderoy opened the door, only to be greeted by Doctor Alberta.

"Hello, Doctor Alberta," he said. Doctor Alberta smiled and nodded. Her teeth were almost as white as Gilderoy's, which seemed to be losing their shine.

"Hello," she greeted. "I'm going to show you around the Asylum."

"Asylum? I'm not crazy," Gilderoy said as they began to walk down the hallway.

"Yes, we know that, Cookie," Felicia lied. "As in a harbor–"

"I'm not a boat," Gilderoy said, unsure of what she meant.

"A harbor...a haven...a safe place," Felicia corrected as they reached a large set of double doors. Felicia opened them, revealing a small room with padded walls, a fan slowly turning, a long plastic table, and two chairs, each on one side of the table. A large man sat in one.

"Sit down, Cookie," said the man. His hair was white and thin, his glasses thick framed. He wore a white lab coat, and his face seemed to be fixed on a cold, hard, unhappy stare.

Gilderoy took his chair, and Doctor Alberta left the room. The man stared coldly, continuing once more. Gilderoy stared down at the table, not really focusing.

"What's your name?" Gilderoy asked. The man nodded.

"My name? Well, you can call me Doctor Wright Galen," Doctor Wright said. "I don't want to be here, but I am. So I'm stuck helping you."

"Why are all you people doctors? Am I insane? What's going on? _Tell me!"_ Gilderoy yelled. There was something wrong with this place, and it wasn't _just_ the talking mirror.

"Gil–I mean Cookie, you are in an Asylum in Australia," Doctor Galen began.

"Australia? What the heck am I doing in Australia?" Gilderoy asked.

"You have lost your memory...all the memory of your former self is gone. You don't remember a thing about yourself, now, do you?" Doctor Galen asked.

"I see...and you are here to help me regain this memory?" Gilderoy asked.

"Yes," Doctor Galen said.

"I guess this makes me insane," Gilderoy said in a calm manner. Doctor Galen shook his head.

"It doesn't make you insane. Not at all. You just have a memory loss," Galen told him.

"I'm insane; admit it," Gilderoy said. "I'll bet Cookie's not even my name."

"You're right; it's not. But that'll change. We're going to teach you about yourself. Everything you've forgotten. Me and Doctor Alberta are assigned to you," Doctor Galen said.

Gilderoy heard a crash from outside. "What's that?" he yelled as he jumped out his chair. Doctor Galen motioned for him to sit back down.

"We're just replacing your mirror; that's all. Don't worry. We've discovered a default in the reflecting power of every mirror, and the factory can't fix it. We have to destroy them," Galen said with much confidence.

Gilderoy heard a scream. It was Dipisni. "What are you doing to Dipisni? Why are you taking him away? He isn't bothering anybody!"

"What are you talking about? There is no Dipisni! Mirrors don't talk!" Galen lied.

"Yes, they do! Dipisni does! He showed me how to get dressed!" Gilderoy yelled. He jumped from his chair onto the table, running at Doctor Galen.

Doctor Galen stood his ground. He pulled out a long, elegant, cypress rod from his pocket, pointing it at the madman that had grown far too attached to his mirror.

Gilderoy was halfway across the table, gaining closer and closer to Doctor Galen. Wright's mouth opened, and a bright flash of light appeared from his wand.

And for Gilderoy, all went black.

_Author's Note: Well, what did you think? This is really the first serious Lockhart story, and I am rather proud of it. The next chapter will come out soon, and don't complain that there appears to be no plot. The plot is taking a backseat for everything to be set up. And there is a lot to set up. I want to think all those that Beta read; there are so many! :-) I swore I would put this up all at once, but I guess I'm not...I guess that you're going to have to wait for the second chapter. Thanks to Moxie, who convinced me to post this.  
  
And, btw, this story takes place before _Election;_ but if you've never read it, that's okay, as this thing stands on its own. This is, well, the Muggle Informing of 1998, hence the title. How it happens...well, that's this story!_


	2. Welcome to Sydney

Informed

Chapter 2: Welcome to Sydney

Gilderoy Lockhart awoke on an operating table. The light flooded in, but his pupils seem to enlarge. Gilderoy tried to close his eyes, but it was useless. Something was restricting them.

He tried to probe his mind, trying to think of something about himself as he looked around the room. A male and female in white lab coats were on the opposite side of the room, discussing something in whispers. He could make out some of it.

"He...gone...kill..." said the man.

"No...that...work..." said the woman. It was all Gilderoy could make out. _They're going to kill me,_ he told himself. He tried to get off the table, but it was no use. He was strapped in. _I'm going to die...I've gotta get out of here..._

His mouth wasn't gagged...maybe that would work. Gilderoy screamed. The woman ran up to Gilderoy and pulled something out of her coat pocket. It was a needle, or at least it appeared to be. Was it too long? Too thick? Too brown?

There was a beam of light, and all went black. Again.

* * *

Gilderoy Lockhart awoke, having not remembered that just three hours ago he had screamed. Doctor Felicia Alberta stood above him, a needle in her hand. Gilderoy's mouth was gagged, his eyes dilated still, even if he couldn't remember that either.

"Hello," Felicia said in a much colder voice than she had ever spoken before. Gilderoy tried to remember her, but he couldn't. But he felt that he had seen her before...was this deja vu? What was going on?

Gilderoy wanted to say something, but he couldn't. He felt as if he didn't belong here...who was he? His mind raced, trying to figure out the answers. He had no memory of his self. There was a literal blank there.

"You like this needle? I don't," said the doctor. She took the towel out of Gilderoy's mouth and set the needle in her jacket pocket.

"What the heck is going on?" Gilderoy asked. "Who am I? Who are you? Why am I strapped in like this?" The doctor put her hand over Gilderoy's mouth.

"I'm Felicia, and I'm going to help you," she said. Gilderoy nodded.

"Help me with what?" Gilderoy asked. "I need to know who I am. Do you know who I am?"

"Yes, I know who you are," Doctor Alberta said.

"Okay. Now tell me," Gilderoy said in his calm manner. "Tell me who I am, and why I'm here strapped like this."

"Your name...you name is Lennie Gil," Doctor Alberta lied. "You were born in London, but you came to this Asylum to escape the hustle and bustle of modern times."

"What year is it?" Gilderoy asked.

"1993, Lennie." Gilderoy nodded. "Let me get you out of these straps..." Gilderoy was unbound from the leather straps, and his eyes almost simultaneously seemed to return to normal.

"Thank you," he said. "Thank you very much." Felicia nodded and smiled.

"You're welcome. Now, I'm going to teach you about the world...everything you've forgotten," Felicia said. Gilderoy nodded, but his face seemed to look confused.

"How did this come about?" Gilderoy asked in his soft tone. Felicia sighed. She was basically going to be lying about everything and inventing this man's life...she'd have to remember it all, and she didn't have that good of a memory. It felt so wrong, but it was her job...and she was going to do it.

"The straps?" she asked. Gilderoy nodded. "You had a nervous breakdown, and you started to punch through the padding in the walls. So we had to strap you in."

"Did you do anything to me?" Gilderoy asked, unsure of just what was going on. He was completely clueless, but there was most definitely something wrong with his present situation. He could see something...

_Two figures stood across the room, talking about something. Gilderoy watched on as he saw himself sitting on an operating table, the same one he was on right now. He was strapped in. What were the two figures saying? Gilderoy saw himself reacting to what he heard, then the Gilderoy of the past screamed as a bright beam of light filled the room._

Gilderoy looked at Felicia, trying to make something out of her eyes. There was an almost soft hardness to them. She obviously carried herself in a tough manner, but that was just an exterior. A shell. On the inside there seemed to be a softness, a caring soul. Or so Gilderoy figured.

"We haven't done anything to you besides put you on the table," Felicia lied. Gilderoy couldn't believe her.

"Then how come I don't remember the nervous breakdown I had a few hours ago?" Gilderoy asked. Felicia hadn't thought of that. _Always overlooking the small things,_ Felicia told herself.

"It's an effect of the medication. Your memory will come back," Felicia assured Gilderoy.

"I can see me...on this operating table...and you...and some other person...discussing something...I guess it was about me...I screamed...and suddenly I'm here...the events leading up to the point in the conversation," Gilderoy said. "I don't believe you."

"You don't have to; but I would prefer you do, Lennie," Felicia told Gilderoy, smiling. "Because it's the truth."

"Okay," Gilderoy said. "How long will I be staying here?"

"Until you're ready to leave," Felicia said with a smile. Her hand fell over Gilderoy's. It was soft and a soothing feel to Gilderoy, who just wanted to figure things out. Gilderoy looked down at it, and he stared up in Felicia's eyes.

"You're hiding something from me," he said. "And I know you don't want to lie to me." Felicia nodded.

"You see–" she began, only to be caught off by the sound off a door opening.

"Felicia?" asked Doctor Galen. Felicia turned back, taking her hand off Gilderoy's.

"Yes, Wright?" she responded.

"I need to see you in my office. _Now."_

* * *

"Doctor, I'm very sorry about what happened..." Felicia began as Doctor Galen slammed the door to his small office shut.

"Take a seat and shut up," Doctor Galen commanded. Felicia did as she was told. "Now, there is a law stating doctors cannot get involved with patients. And you know the type of involved I'm talking about here."

"I'm afraid not," Felicia lied, trying to hide the obvious truth. Her heart beat quickly, and her breathing seemed to increase.

"You know just what I am talking about, Felicia. I watched you in the room while you were with Gilderoy," Doctor Galen said with the stern tone he used when he was mad at someone. "I'm not an idiot," he added.

"You told me you'd leave me alone with him!" Felicia exclaimed. Doctor Galen nodded as he sat back in his chair, which squeaked at a rather high tone.

"And I did. I left you alone in the room with him and watched you. What you're suggesting is another thing. I'm in charge of that patient, and I'm certainly not letting him out of my site," Galen told Felicia. Felicia nodded and jumped out her chair.

"He's not a stupid idiot! It's not his fault! It's that Weasley boy's and Harry Potter's! If they hadn't been off trying to play hero instead of letting the master do the work, Gilderoy would still have his memory; and he'd still be at Hogwarts!" Felicia yelled. Doctor Galen nodded and smiled to himself.

"You do realize he never did a thing for his books besides write them, do you?" he asked. "If he even did that..." Felicia was horrified. The Ministry had been good about keeping this bit of evidence secret, and she really couldn't believe it.

"You're lying!" she yelled. It was all she could say. "He's the bravest man on the planet; and he's always gonna be, no matter who he thinks he is!" She began to cry.

Wright stared down at the small frame in front of him, sighing. "I don't want to do this at all, Felicia. I really don't. But I have to. You're off Gilderoy. He's no longer your patient."

"What? You can't do this! Not to me! Only the Ministry can fire me!" Felicia swung at Wright from across the desk. Wright caught her fist and twisted it. Felicia sobbed.

Wright let go abruptly, and Felicia fell to the ground. "Leave," Wright told Felicia. "Leave now. I'm in charge of this patient, and I'm ordering you to go. Now."

Felicia stomped her foot on the ground, her face flooded with tears. She pointed a finger at Wright.

"Mark my words, Wright. Taking me off this is the worst thing that's ever going to happen to this, and he's going to get revenge...got that?"

Felicia stormed out the room, slamming the door shut.

* * *

Gilderoy Lockhart was taken from the room by a masked man in a lab coat. He was shoved into his dark room, and the man that led him in said nothing. Gilderoy clapped twice, turning the lights on.

The mysterious man left, not saying a word. _I hate this job,_ Lucas George thought to himself as he closed the door.

* * *

And Gilderoy Lockhart was educated in the ways of Muggles. His name was now Lennie Gil (nickname: Gil) to everyone. The Ministry had taken extra steps in assuring Gilderoy believed he was Muggle, including providing him with news on events in the Muggle world with newspapers like _World News Weekly, _where Gilderoy had learned about the recent alien infestation of the White House.

There were others: _The National Enquirer, The Sun..._it goes on. They were all known to Muggles as supermarket tabloids. To the wizard world, it was an example of how insane Muggles were. Wizards also seemed to think they were the highest class of reporting in the Muggle world.

Gilderoy was currently immersing himself in the latest issue of _World News Weekly,_ discovering the news that Bill Clinton was having a scandal with a woman named Monica. It was all a rumor right now, but the paper said it could he true.

There was a knock on the door. Gilderoy focused his attention on the door, turning away from the paper.

"Yes?" he asked. The day was January 23, 1998.

"Mister Gil, it is time for your evaluation," said the gruff voice behind the door, whom Gilderoy recognized as Doctor Wright Galen.

"My evaluation?" Gilderoy asked. "For what?"

"To determine whether or not you are ready to leave and set out into the real world. Gil, you cannot stay hear forever," came the reply.

Doctor Galen heard Gilderoy sigh to himself; the time was coming, and he knew it. The Ministry had lessened the budget, which required the removal of some patients. And Gilderoy was ready to go out into the Muggle world. Right?

* * *

"Welcome, Mister Gil," said a man unknown to Gilderoy; his name was Doctor Donald Maximus. The room was a lime green color; there was a loud fan slowly rotating on the ceiling.

"Who are you?" Gilderoy asked.

"Doctor Donald Maximus. Me and Wright will be performing your evaluation," he responded. The door shut; and Doctor Galen took a seat next to Donald, across from where Gilderoy was supposed to sit. "Sit down."

"Yes, Sir," Gilderoy responded, taking a seat. The fan's deafening roar stopped, and Gilderoy jumped.

"Don't be alarmed; it happens all the time with the fan," Donald said. Gilderoy nodded.

"Have I been in here before? It looks oddly familiar..." he said.

"All the rooms are like this," Wright said. He sneezed, blowing the dust on the table around him off the table.

"Yes, I know," Gilderoy said as he sneezed.

"Stop the sneezing," Donald snapped. Wright was halfway in the middle of a sneeze, and he suddenly stopped.

"Now, Gilderoy," Donald began, "I'm going to test you on this Muggle knowledge..."

* * *

On February 1, 1998, the Ministry of Magic officially pronounced Gilderoy Lockhart cured. Gilderoy was, according to the Ministry of Magic, ready to set out into the Muggle world and not harm any wizard. He would have no knowledge of the wizard world.

The Ministry was going to watch Gilderoy closely as he left; that was the plan: they were going to observe his actions for three months. They would remove him if need be and start over again. The Ministry had far less dangerous patients in the hospitals. But Gilderoy was never supposed to stay for as long as he did.

Gilderoy Lockhart was escorted out of Asthenia (Wizard District of Sydney, where his former residence was located) and to a Muggle apartment.

Gilderoy was given his key. His rent would be paid for the next year as he settled into the world. Only his bills would be paid. Gilderoy would have to find a job on his own.

He stepped into the large door and was greeted by the freezing cold air conditioning. Gilderoy shivered.

The men standing next to him (in Muggle business suits) pressed the "UP" button on the elevator. The group of men stepped in the elevator and disappeared as the door closed.

* * *

The group reappeared on floor nine. Gilderoy's apartment number was 912. He slid the key into the lock and turned it. The door opened, and the group stepped in. Gilderoy's bags were already in the room.

"Mister Gil, this is your apartment. You have money in your top drawer, and here is your key. You have another one on your bed," one man said; his name was Charlie. "We've set everything up here for you so you won't go through all the troubles of doing it yourself. Enjoy the rest of your life."

The men stepped out of the apartment door and slammed it shut. Gilderoy ran to the door and quickly opened it.

"Hello?" he said. He looked around. No one was there. _Not this again,_ Gilderoy told himself, recalling the strange happenings of life at the Asylum.

A woman appeared from across the hall. She wondered what was going on.

"Stupid Brits," she mumbled to herself. She closed the door.

* * *

Gilderoy Lockhart stood in his room. He eyed the phone. His memories of the Asylum were vivid...except for one: a woman. He just remembered her name: Felicia Alberta. She had been a doctor. Gilderoy picked up the phone and dialed the operator.

"Hello?" asked the operator. Gilderoy smiled to himself; he was reaching success.

"I need directory assistance," Gilderoy said.

"Please hold," the Australian recording stated. Gilderoy was getting jumpy.

"Directory assistance," stated a calm man.

"I need to make a call," Gilderoy said.

"Yes, I know that, mate. Where to?"

"The United States," Gilderoy said. "Louisiana."

"Where in the US, mate?"

"Natchitoches," Gilderoy said. "To Felicia Alberta."

"Hold on..." the operator said. "Hmm...there's no one in Natchitoches named Felicia Alberta. Perhaps the number's unlisted. Sorry," the operator said.

"Oh," Gilderoy said.

"Is that all?" the operator asked.

"Yes," Gilderoy said. "That is all."

There was a click on the other side, and Gilderoy hung the phone up. He stared around his apartment. It was in a good condition, the ceilings white and no holes in the wall. Gilderoy walked into the bathroom and took a relaxing bath.

* * *

"Mister Gil, I welcome you to Plum Software Incorporated. Your programming knowledge is quite vast, as I see from your test," said Jon Sikes, Gilderoy's boss.

"Well, your Roofs operating system is regarded very high. I'm proud to be a part of Plum," Gilderoy said.

"You're being placed in our Programming Department. It looks like you'll become a top programmer," Sikes told Gilderoy, patting his back.

"Thank you," Gilderoy said. "I know this is gonna be great."

"Yes, now here's your employee information. Your cubicle is number eight-oh-three. G'day, mate," John said. He threw a manilla folder into Gilderoy's chest. Gilderoy walked away from the testing room, full of computers.

* * *

Gilderoy entered the Programming Room, home of all the programmers. He walked past the isles of cubicles. Suddenly, a man rushed in front of him.

"Are you with the dancing monkeys he asked?" he asked. The man's tie was over his shoulder, and his hair was a mess. His face was painted and his shirt untucked. His pants were covered with dirt.

"I'm afraid I don't know what you're talking about," Gilderoy told him.

"What? Everyone knows 'bout the dancing monkeys!" the man said. "You must be with the evil ones! The ones trying to kill them! The ones that say monkeys should not dance!" Gilderoy shrugged.

"I don't know what you're talking about," he said.

_"You stupid Brits!"_ the man yelled. "You don't know anything these days."

Gilderoy shrugged and left the man alone. He waled past more cubicles, and it was almost like a war. The workers were soldiers, with war paint and long hair screaming as loud as they possibly could.

"Hey, you the new guy?" whispered a man. "This cubicle yours?" a man asked from a cubicle off to the right, next to Gilderoy's.

"Why yes," Gilderoy said. "That's mine."

"They told me someone knew was coming."

"Who are they talking about...the dancing monkeys?" Gilderoy asked, pointing behind him with his thumb at the insane coworkers.

"The unions...which we don't have," the man said. "There were never enough votes to unionize the company."

"I see," Gilderoy said. "Are the unions the dancing monkeys?"

"Yes, they are. They're supposed to give us higher pay and all this bull. I don't believe that. They can't make any guarantees," the man said. "I'm Greg, by the way."

"Oh, I'm Lennie," Gilderoy said. "Lennie Gil."

"Greg Free," Greg said. "I've been working here for twenty years." Gilderoy studied the man, obviously in his early fifties, maybe late forties. His hair had patches of gray on top of the black hair and beard.

"Well, what did a computer company do twenty years ago?" Gilderoy asked.

"You'd be surprised..." Greg said with a slight grin.

"Why aren't you like president or something?" Gilderoy asked. There was no way a man could be working at a company for twenty years and not get promoted, in his opinion.

"Well, it's all corporate politics, you see. You're not promoted unless you make the right moves, pull the right strings," Greg told him.

"Ah," Gilderoy said. "Well, I guess I better start pulling those strings." Greg nodded.

"Go do that. Go try. See if you aren't designing the clock program for Roofs '99."

Gilderoy smiled and stepped into the cubicle. It was rather small. There was a plastic chair and a desk built into the cubicle. A note was stuck on the monitor of the computer on the desk. There were two drawers under Gilderoy, built into the side of the cubicle. A small phone was next to the monitor. A keyboard pulled out from under the desk.

Gilderoy sat back and yanked the note off the desk.

Begin work immediately on clock program for Roofs 2001.

_Roofs 2001?_ Gilderoy thought to himself. _I thought there was only a Roofs '99._ Gilderoy shrugged and flipped the computer on.

He programmed madly for three hours in Shingles, the programming language invented specifically for Roofs. The clock program was done and done exactly as was specified in an email he had received from Jon Sikes after booting up the computer and getting on the company server, Tiles.

Gilderoy saved the program on a floppy and walked out of his cubicle. It appeared that the workers were engaged in war. They fired darts at all that were either not for or not with the dancing monkeys. Gilderoy barely survived.

He followed the instructions of the email to the letter, carrying himself and the floppy to the office of Mister Sikes.

He opened the large door, meeting Mister Sikes's large female secretary. "Who are you?" she asked in her Aussie accent.

"I'm Lennie Gil, and I've got something for Mister Sikes." The woman nodded and hit her phone.

"John, someone's here for ya'," she said. There was a cough from the other side.

"Okay," Jon Sikes said. "Send him in."

"Right through that door, mate," the secretary said. Gilderoy nodded and stepped through a large door.

"Lennie!" Jon Sikes said from behind his desk. Jon was buttoning his shirt. Gilderoy noticed Jon's wedding band next to his computer.

"What's going on?" Gilderoy asked as he saw a patch of blonde hair appear from under Jon's desk.

"Nothing, nothing at all," John said. He pulled out a cigar and pushed the hair under the desk.

"Oh..." Gilderoy said. "I finished the program."

"Program? Oh yeah, the clock for 2001! Set it right on my desk and _leave,"_ Jon said, emphasizing the part about getting out of his office.

"Okay..." Gilderoy said. He pulled the floppy out of his pocket. "Here, Mister Sikes."

Gilderoy left at once. Jon Sikes set the disk off to the side and went back to what he was doing before he had been interrupted. "It's safe to come out now," he told his other secretary and went back to what he was doing before. He much preferred this to receiving clock programs.

_Author's Note: Well? There's a reason this story is PG-13. I enjoyed writing this chapter...thanks to all those that enjoy this story...you still probably have NO IDEA what this is about...but don't worry - you will shortly. Now, I'd like to thank the many that read this chapter (and understood some of the strange humor) and gave me comments on it. Also, you have NO IDEA how cool a review can be. So...if Cassandra Claire can get more reviews than I can get readers, I may suddenly just disappear or something. I'd like to know what readers are thinking! DUH! So, tell me what you think, darn it!_


	3. Fantasy Land

Informed

Chapter 3: Fantasy Land

Gilderoy Lockhart walked back to his cubicle. He had no other assignments at the moment, at least according to his computer. He decided to check out the Internet.

* * *

Five minutes into the Internet, Gilderoy was interrupted by a "WHOOSH" sound. A small pointy thing whisked past his ear. It hit the cubicle wall.

Gilderoy pulled the tiny wooden dart out, examining it. The metal point at the end seemed to be slightly rusted.

He stood on his chair and popped his head above the cubicle. He immediately counted nine different blow guns aimed directly at him.

"Who blew this at me?" he asked. No one responded. "Who tried to hit me with a dart but failed?"

Again, no response. "God!" he said. Immediately nine darts were headed for his head. Gilderoy ducked, but most of the darts fell short. One flew past him. That was all for the darts.

He looked around. He needed something white before he went back up...Gilderoy checked his pocket.

Ah, a handkerchief.

Gilderoy waved it above his head, above the top of the cubicle. Immediately, a dart flew past it. He popped his head up once more, to discover nine dart guns but no darts.

"Hello," Gilderoy said. "I'm neutral." The office was strangely quiet. _The calm before the storm,_ Gilderoy noted to himself.

"Are you with the dancing monkeys?" asked a man a few cubicles down, brandishing a dart gun.

"I am undecided," Gilderoy stated. "I am trying to decide."

_"Decide now."_

"I am with the dancing monkeys," Gilderoy said. "Go dancing monkeys."

A joyous atmosphere spread through the office. There were cheers. Greg's head appeared.

"Lennie," he said. "I can't believe you're for the dancing monkeys." Gilderoy shrugged.

"Neither am I. Oh, well. I don't want any darts flying at me," Gilderoy said. Greg nodded.

"You're still not with the dancing monkeys?" Gilderoy asked his coworker with a grin.

"I swore I would never support a dancing monkey. I swore on my grandfather's grave."

* * *

After his strange first day at work, Gilderoy decided to take the bus to a restaurant he had heard about: McDonald's. It was supposedly the place where you could find the most refreshing foods after a long day at work, and it sounded like gourmet food to Gilderoy. Perhaps he would take Felicia here. Its scent was rather delicious; Gilderoy savored it.

He pulled on the door handle, and his hand slipped right off. On it was some kind of fluid. It was slippery, and he wasn't about to rub it on his shirt.

He grabbed the handkerchief out his pocket and held it over the door. If this was gourmet, he certainly didn't want to see fast food. Unless this really wasn't gourmet...

Gilderoy nearly slipped on the floor when his shoes hit. More grease. _Greasy,_ he told himself as he padded his hand one more time and opened a second door. He smelled the scent of smoke and grease and fattening things. _Definitely _not_ gourmet._

There was a large counter to his right. Behind it were the fattest and dirtiest people Gilderoy had ever seen. Nevertheless, he made his way to the front.

"Welcome to McDonald's, mate," said a fat woman with black hair. "Can I take your order, mate?"

Gilderoy checked the menu. "A nine piece chicken nuggets, large order of fries, and a medium Coke." The woman nodded, her mouth open making no sound. _She does not seem to know what hygiene is._

Gilderoy paid for his meal; he had decided to eat it outside. It was probably more sanitary than eating it inside the greasy restaurant.

* * *

The next day, Gilderoy found himself on the wrong bus route from work. He found himself staring at what seemed to be cardboard cutouts of buildings, but he wasn't sure. Something wasn't right about it.

As he had gotten off, the bus driver looked at him strangely. The bus driver's eyes suddenly grew thirty times larger, and he gasped.

"Evil lurks there," he had said. "We take no responsibility for your guaranteed death. Hey, I warned you!"

And the bus had driven off.

Gilderoy pressed against the cardboard buildings and fell through. He hit the pavement on his cheek, and he wiped a dab of blood onto his shirt.

There were strange people in this place; people that wore odd cloaks and brandished pointed sticks. People that wore strange shoes.

In other words, altogether strange people. Gilderoy felt oddly out of place in this place, but he didn't know if that was right. Shouldn't these strange people feel out of place?

Gilderoy shrugged it off and began to walk down the street. According to the magnificent square red street sign, Gilderoy was on Fudge Road.

There was a large red sign in the middle of the road. Gilderoy ran up to it, reading it.

"WELCOME TO ASTHENIA!" it read. Gilderoy had never heard of such a place. Was he mad? There was small writing at the bottom of the sign. "Wizard District of Sydney," the fine print said. Another thing Gilderoy had never heard of.

_I'm mad,_ he thought. _Wizards are fake. Wizards are only in books. They are fantasy. And I don't live in Fantasy Land._

He read the sign again. It was exactly the same. Gilderoy ran up to a passing woman and grabbed her shoulder.

"Don't touch me!" she yelled, turning around. She saw his face and ran.

"Hey! What's that all about?" Gilderoy yelled to the running woman. Gilderoy continued to walk down the street, staring at the shops lining the street.

One that caught Gilderoy's eye was a bookstore. It had the simple name of Barry's Books. A middle-aged man stepped inside the rotating door, and Gilderoy followed him.

The interior was rather bland as well. The walls were wood, as was the floor, all a dull brown. Gilderoy stepped into the fiction section, following the man in front of him.

There were rows of books with the strangest titles Gilderoy had ever seen: _The Basilisk's Bath, Fear and Loathing in Hogwarts, Lunch of Losers, Arcane Smith and the Chamber of Death, Arcane Smith and the Muggles, Arcane Smith and the Hogwarts Hoaxers..._it went on. Gilderoy grabbed one of the Arcane Smith books on the shelf and began to leaf through it.

"Arcane jumped over the dragon in the Chamber of Death, stabbing it with the Sword of Death."

That was all Gilderoy read. He let go of the book, and it seemed to dance its way back on the shelf. Gilderoy blinked in disbelief and continued down the aisle.

He found a section with an extravagant sign over it:

THE GILDEROY LOCKHART COLLECTION: ENGAGE IN THE TALES OF THE GREATEST LIAR ON EARTH. NOW 20 PERCENT OFF!

Gilderoy stared at the smiling picture of the blonde man that was on top of the bookshelf.

_That fellow looks a lot like me,_ he told himself. _No, that can't be. There is only one person that looks like me, and that's me._

There were rows of books by Gilderoy Lockhart...too many to name in a list. Gilderoy was staring at the strange titles before he bumped into a good-looking fellow with brown hair and specks of gray.

"Oh, excuse me," Gilderoy said to the man.

"That's okay," the man said without looking at Gilderoy. Suddenly he turned around and stared in disbelief.

"What?" Gilderoy asked. "What's wrong?" The man across from him shook his head.

"No, it can't be...you're not...he's a psycho...lost his mind..." the man murmured under his breath.

"Who is that man in the picture?" Gilderoy asked. "What's so great about Gilderoy Lockhart?"

"Well, aren't _you_ Gilderoy Lockhart, the man who wrote hundreds of books, the greatest liar on Earth?" the man asked Gilderoy. Gilderoy shook his head.

Suddenly, there was an image. A dark chamber...two boys...and himself...he was scared...the boys almost laughed at him...

"My God..." Gilderoy said. "That is me." Gilderoy began to see flashes of what could surely be another life. This wasn't right. He shook his head, his face covered in tears. _No,_ he told himself as he began to run. _This isn't right. I don't want to be the greatest liar on Earth!_ And so, Gilderoy Lockhart left Duke Dingo and Barry's Books.

* * *

Gilderoy stepped out the door, running off the wooden patio into the street. The sound around him was a blur. Through his eyes he only saw colors; he could not make out individual shapes.

He stopped at the edge of the street after having ran off the sidewalk. He stopped, straining forward to admire the strange beauty of the world around him. His eyes came into focus as an old woman passed by.

Gilderoy wiped the tears of his face and ran up to her, shaking her frail body.

"Who am I?" he asked. "Am I Gilderoy Lockhart?"

"Uh..." the woman said.

_"Answer me!"_ Gilderoy said, shaking the woman to a point at which she fell on the ground. The woman got off the ground, her mouth open and with tears.

"I dunno?" she asked. "Leave me alone, you psycho freak!" Gilderoy stared at her in distress, trying to show her his pain.

It didn't work. Gilderoy ran off, going on the next street and discovering a small boy walking out of a candy store.

_"Who am I?"_ he asked, swinging the boy off the street. The boy stopped licking his large lollipop and looked up at Gilderoy.

"You're in the bookstore," he told Gilderoy. "At least I think you are–you sort of look like that guy, Gilderoy Lockhart." The boy stuck the lollipop back in his mouth.

Gilderoy threw the boy to the side, going to jog into the street, looking as sane as possible. His face was red and full of tears. A young woman pulled him from behind, noticing his distress.

"What's wrong?" she asked, wiping the tears off his face. "Tell me please."

"Who am I?"

"What?" she asked.

"Answer the question! _Who am I?"_ The woman shook her head.

"I guess you're Gilderoy Lockhart. But you should be locked up...after all, you did lose your mind."

The visions returned, but Gilderoy instead saw a flash of scenes with people in a small village.

_It was a small white room. Gilderoy stared at the man across from him; the man was an Exorcist. "So, Mister Tulle, your line of work is rather interesting, you think? The whole demon and Satan thing...like that new movie," Gilderoy said, walking toward the chair of Mister Tulle. Lou Tulle._

Gilderoy squatted down, placing his hands on Lou's lap. "Guess what?" he asked Lou.

"What?" Lou asked. "You always were a phony and always will be, you piece of trash."

Gilderoy smiled. His fist began to tighten. He smiled. "I just want to have an interview with you on this Exorcism thing before I actually do it..." Gilderoy punched the man and pulled out his wand.

"Excuse me?" Gilderoy asked, shaking himself out of his vision.

"You just asked me who you were. You're Gilderoy Lockhart; I can tell. I work for the Ministry, and I know you live here," the woman said. She began to reach for the pocket of her cloak.

Gilderoy kicked her into the ground, punching her in the face. He grabbed the wand in her pocket. His knowledge of the wizard world is back.

She stared at him with a look of disbelief as Gilderoy's mind turned into a cold smile.

_"Cr–"_ he started to say before being interrupted by a man on the street. Gilderoy snapped the wand in half; it was relatively simple. He left it on the woman's chest and ran away as fast as he could.

He reached the gates of Asthenia in two minutes, entering the Muggle world. The bus home would be arriving in a few minutes.

* * *

The head Sir, Orson Welles, sat in the Sirs base in Sydney. Wright Galen, standing in front of Orson, looked rather pale.

The room itself was brightly lit; a single light shone into Wright's eye. His pupils were dilated, as to cause even more pain.

"It appears you judged Mister Lockhart too quickly, Galen," Orson said, turning the crank up on the brightness.

Wright flinched, staring away from the lamp. "Please look into the light, Mister Galen; or I will have to use another form of extraction."

"I didn't know this would happen," Wright said. "He passed all the tests."

"Why didn't you put him in Berwick, Louisiana, or something? Anywhere but Sydney!" Orson said, slapping Wright on the cheek. Wright rubbed his burning red skin. The Sirs had a fondness for violence.

"After exhaustive research, we figured the best place to go was Sydney. The town is rather nice, and he's not that popular here. It's not my fault the Lockhart Collection shipped. He'd have been fine if he didn't accidentally find his way to Asthenia," Wright responded.

"Accidental!? I'm going to accidentally hurt you if I don't get what I need!" Orson stuck his index finger in Wright's face, his face extremely tense.

Wright nodded. Questioning was about to begin.

* * *

Cornelius Fudge sat in his office, staring at the wall. He had no idea what the Minister was to do in the post-Voldemort wake. Harry Potter, Ron Weasley, and Ginny Weasley had accidentally discovered Voldemort in the halls of Hogwarts, possessing the mind of Hermione Granger, as his new power was taking over the minds of people. Professor Dumbledore called upon an Exorcist to save the genius girl, who had barely made it out of the process. She was closely guarded by the Ministry, as she was quite literally a psycho.

She was kept in a cell in Azkaban, guarded by the only human guards there were. The Ministry's official story was she was working for the Sirs in an underground terrorist group. _Her friends are rather gullible,_ Cornelius thought to himself.

It didn't matter as they certainly had all the time in the world. Hermione Granger was taking a while to recover from Voldemort, a lot longer than expected. Voldemort was seriously being considered as Satan, or at least the son of Satan. The only evidence was her possession. This was the first time a wizard had possessed somebody, actually taken over their body in a spiritual sense. He could not be driven out by magic. Only faith.

Cornelius sighed to himself, recalling his fight with Voldemort–or Satan. It was rather horrid, but he had managed to fight of Voldemort's advances in the form Kevin Smith, the then head Sir.

And Voldemort left Kevin's body, heading for Hogwarts. Harry Potter was given credit for the Exorcism, increasing the air in his head. Cornelius hated it, but life was like that.

There was a knock at the door. Cornelius jumped from his desk, interrupted from his meditation.

"Come in," he said, greeted by Orson Welles's familiar face. Orson smiled as he sat down.

"Hello," Orson said, sitting down across from Fudge's desk. "I have some news; I don't know if you've heard it yet."

"What?" Fudge asked, leaning forward from his leather chair. "What's wrong?"

"Gilderoy Lockhart–"

"That mindless jerk? The pixie dude?" Fudge asked. "I thought we locked him up somewhere."

"We did. But he was pronounced cured a few months ago by a certain Doctor Wright Galen and sent out to live in the Muggle world," Orson explained.

"Where?" Cornelius asked as Orson opened his mouth to speak.

"Sydney. Sydney, Australia," Orson responded. "A large wizard community, as well as Muggle community. The Australian following of Lockhart is more of a cult following than any other thing though. It's not like what we have here. It's rather small."

"Ah," Cornelius said. "Well, what's the problem with Lockhart?"

"Well, he found Asthenia."

"And?" Cornelius asked, waving his hand. "And?"

"He discovered just who he was. He nearly did a _Crucio_ to some poor woman. Horrible, if you ask me. You have a man that is insane and discovering a government just lied to him...and then–" Orson moved his hand through the air–"you've got a Ministry that doesn't know what to do with him."

_"Are you insulting me, Mister Welles?_ I'll let you know that nobody told me about this confounded incident!" Cornelius exclaimed, leaping from his chair and pointing his index finger at Orson's chest.

"Maybe you should keep up with your intelligence organizations, Minister! We've had insufficient funding, budget losses–everything you can possibly imagine; and I know you have since you approved it all!" Orson's face straightened; and his stare could take out Cornelius in a second, if looks could kill.

"Don't insult me, Mister Welles," Cornelius said. "I am the Minister of Magic, and I can give budget increases to whomever I want! You don't come barging in on me while I am trying to run a government that spans the world!" Cornelius slapped Orson across the face.

"I'd fire you in an instant, Orson; but I don't seem to have control over the Sirs as much as I'd like."

"Likewise, Minister Fudge. I would fire you in an instant as well." Orson made a rather rude gesture to the Minister of Magic, one that tended to end every meeting he had with the man.

Orson then put his hands in his pockets and left the room.

* * *

_It was a classroom, and a group of older students sat in it. They were dressed in cloaks, attending the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry._

Gilderoy Lockhart sat on the top of his desk, reading from his book Midnights with Muggles.

_"Muggles seem to be odd creatures; they definitely have destructive capabilities, from the atomic bomb to the evils of fast food._

"It's not as bad as a Dark Wizard or an evil demon–check out my Exorcism books for information on that–but it's certainly a pain."

Gilderoy shut the book and stared at the blank faces of the teenagers. He smiled and set the book down on his desk.

"Okay, class, time for a pop quiz on Muggles!" Gilderoy pulled out a sheet of parchment.

Gilderoy Lockhart awoke from his bed and yelled. _I don't want this...that isn't me...I'm normal...I do not love myself like that...not me...cold water...Felicia..._

Gilderoy wiped the lone tear off his face. He leaned up from his bed, looking at the wall. He didn't want any of this. He just wanted to be Lennie Gil, a man with one mind, one life, one love. No evil conspiracies in his life. He just wanted to live like another person. A normal person.

_Author's Note: Oompa loompa doopity doo! This was another chapter for you. Well, did you enjoy? Now you do know what the story is about so that must be pretty nice. I actually almost cried writing this chapter - so boo yah. Of course, that's ALMOST...I think you may figure out where it was...I'm not telling! Also, if you don't like the fact that this chapter is shorter - too bad, since I found a good stopping point here...  
  
"To read is human, to review, divine..." That's something Cassandra Claire said. And since she is one of the best...maybe you should follow HER advice. :-)_


	4. Gilderoy's My Name

Informed

Chapter 4: Gilderoy's My Name

Gilderoy Lockhart stared at the alarm clock. It was a Tuesday, four days after the events in Asthenia.

Gilderoy sighed. His life was a mess; he hadn't gone to work yet. He hadn't taken a shower either. His hair was a mess as well.

He had also forgotten his deodorant. Of course, he really didn't think it mattered. His entire life was a lie.

No person wanted their life to be a lie.

And with that, Gilderoy Lockhart went back to sleep.

* * *

Felicia Alberta woke up in a room. She was at a Ministry holding cell, the same place she had been for years. _They're evil. They're liars. They lied to me. They lied to Gilderoy..._

The walls were white and plain, as plain as her brown bed. Her face was plain as well, seemingly deprived of all the color it had when she had first met Gilderoy.

Her wand was cracked in half; and it was on the floor, as it had been for many years, a reminder of her loss. The Ministry took the Lockhart case very seriously, and they weren't going to play games.

Felicia began to cry. She wanted him...but did he want her? She could only hope the answer was yes.

* * *

Gilderoy Lockhart sat at a table in the far end of his apartment, next to a window. He shut the curtain, with its lovely view of the Sydney streets, and pulled out a copy of _World News Weekly, _which he always bought at stores.

On the headlines was a flying saucer. A man's head was above it. "MAN REVEALS ALIENS' PLANS!" said the headline. Gilderoy was fearful about it, but he already had another identity he was wrestling with. It was too much for the time.

He pulled out a pen and paper and began to write a letter...

****

To whomever it may concern,

Hello, my name is Lennie Gil. I live in Sydney, Australia. I recently discovered evidence in Sydney that magic exists, and I was part of this magic thing once.

When I was in the wizard world, my name was Gilderoy Lockhart. I was a best-selling writer, writing hundreds of books. They were especially popular with women, and I won the Most Charming Smile Award from a magazine (I can't remember the title) five times in a row.

You see, I lost my memory in a castle in England, Hogwarts. I was in the Chamber of Secrets. I was putting some kind of spell on two boys; their names are Harry Potter and Ron Weasley. Somehow the spell backfired. I lost my memory of the wizard world.

A few days ago, I discovered a place called Asthenia in Sydney. I am enclosing a map that shows just where it is. It is where wizards in Sydney live. They even work there, but I am guessing some work in our world (the "Muggle" world as wizards call it) as well.

I discovered my former identity in a bookstore. A stranger told me my name when I saw a smiling and waving (their pictures move) picture of me over a collection of my novels. I ran out, not wanting this.

But now I am forced to live with this. I am forced to live with the fact that my identity was taken from me by the Ministry of Magic, their government. I spent about seven years in a mental asylum, waiting for release while being trained to think I was a Muggle.

But I am not. I am a wizard. I can do magic. I will show it to you. Please visit my home for an interview.

Longtime reader,

Gilderoy Lockhart

Gilderoy put the map in the envelope, followed by the letter. Then he sealed up the envelope, placing it to the side of the table. He grabbed another sheet of paper, preparing to write to _The National Enquirer._

* * *

In New York City on a Friday, reporter Don Vinicci slammed his fist on his desk. The room was loud, filled with smoke. He'd was a published science fiction writer; he didn't need any of this.

At high school reunions, he was the butt of many jokes; after all, his job was a tabloid "reporter." One of his friends was a science advisor to the president; another was an Oscar winner.

This really wasn't fair.

"Donny!" called Jack Harper, the boss. The editor. The head honcho. The man Don hated most.

"What?" Don called, turning from his chair and staring at the ugly, short, bald man. Jack scratched his neck and pulled out a letter from his jacket pocket.

"Here," he said. "Here's a letter we just received. From this guy that claims he is a wizard or something. I find it rather funny, but I dunno if you will."

"Okay, whatever," Don said, grabbing the letter. He was wearing white, matching the blandness that accompanied the "newsroom," where reporters came up with stories.

He ripped up the letter and read it. "My God..." He got up from his chair, screaming "Oh my God!" over and over again. This story was true. He knew it. He had a gut feeling. It was the discovery of a lifetime.

"What?" asked an ugly female reporter with a Bronx accent.

"Nothing," Don said. He wiped the sweat off his receding hairline and began to run through the sweatshop the room was, running over the desks, going the quickest way to Jack Harper's office.

He stepped through the brown door without even slowing down.

"What?" Jack asked.

"I need an airplane ticket to Sydney, Australia. Now!"

* * *

"Come in," said Gilderoy Lockhart to the reporter. He motioned to a small set up with two wooden chairs and a small matching table. "Do sit down."

"Thanks," Don Vinicci said. He took his brimmed hat off and slumped into one of the chairs.

"So," Gilderoy said, "you'd like to interview me? I'd like to make the cover picture. I want to immortalized. I want people in every supermarket to see me."

"Mister Lockhart, perform magic for me," Don said. Gilderoy was shocked. He'd expected this to be one of the final things. Don pulled out a video camera.

"Please, Mister Lockhart. I'm going to record it all on video, if that's okay," Don said.

"Sure, that's fine," Gilderoy said with nervousness. He grabbed the wand he'd stolen in Asthenia a few days ago from under his pillow.

_"Lumos,"_ he said. There was light at the end of the wand, rather strong light.

"Wow," Don said, in awe. "How? Oh my God..."

"It's magic. Comes from the heart."

"I see...can I try?"

"I don't think it'll work, but go ahead." The light went out, and Gilderoy handed the wand to Don.

_"Lumos,"_ Don said. Nothing happened. He tried again.

And again.

And again.

And again.

Nothing happened. It was safe to say that Don was pure Muggle.

"I'll take that," Gilderoy stated, grabbing the wand. Don nodded and pulled a small notebook out of his pocket.

"So...explain just what happened to me," Don ordered Gilderoy. Gilderoy bit his lip, leaning over in his chair.

"You see, I just found this place...I was coming home from work...on the bus...stayed on...saw a place that looked fake...went inside...found a bookstore...discovered my identity...went crazy...quit my job..."

Don nodded.

"Show me this place."

* * *

"This is Asthenia," Gilderoy said, outside in the rain. He pointed at the magnificent welcoming sign. It was probably safe to say Don was the first Muggle to enter the all-wizard city.

"Oh my God..." Don was in awe, staring at the small children jumping through the street, throwing beams of light (which appeared from their wands) at one another.

"Those spells...well, they're simple really," Gilderoy said. "Most children learn them before attending magic school."

"Magic school, eh?" Don asked, intrigued. What a scoop!

Not to mention it was all true.

Of course, the last prank pulled on him was the–ah, never mind.

Don thought of hamsters.

And Mars.

That's all he thought of.

And he, of course, thought of magic.

Back to the subject.

No one seemed to notice the oddly dressed pair.

No one even seemed to care. Gilderoy pulled a robe out of his pocket and slipped it on. The yellow thing fit perfectly.

He pulled out a maroon one and handed it to Don. It fit him as well.

"Autographs!" Gilderoy yelled. "Get your Gilderoy Lockhart books signed by Gilderoy Lockhart himself!"

The boy across the street took notice at the man. _That's the fifth guy today!_

No one ran to Gilderoy to get their books signed.

It was almost safe to say no one even seemed to care. Gilderoy Lockhart was old and gone...he was forgotten.

He was someone good to do your social studies report on. You'd go all the way to the top with a report on him.

Not that anyone would care.

* * *

_A week later._

The Minister of Magic could only stare at the tabloid on the desk. There was Gilderoy Lockhart gracing the front cover.

"WIZARDS STOLE MY IDENTITY!" the cover said.

Cornelius Fudge cursed and threw open his office door. _"I want the best men we've got in my office!"_

There were murmurs through the hallway...no one knew just what the Minister wanted–there were so many things these days.

Cornelius Fudge sat at his desk and sighed, his head in his hands. Five men stepped into his office, each dressed in dark black Muggle business suits.

"Hello," Gilderoy said. "You are the Five, I presume?"

"Yes, we are the Five," said the tallest. His face was covered in shadow, a result of the window blinds.

The Five were more secret than the Sirs, and they were not officially connected with the Ministry. They were chosen by a private organization, which was owned by a front company for the Sirs. Thus, the Sirs were their connection.

But they were not Sirs. The Sirs were always on call. The Five were used only in emergencies, and they were the top dogs. All were Animagi, so for one it was quite literal and figural.

"Are you Number One?" Fudge asked.

"Yes," the man hidden in the shadows replied. "I am the only one that talks in public."

"I see..." This conversation almost seemed to Fudge like something between him and the Sirs, just he preferred the Five much more. They weren't as arrogant.

But you used the Five only in emergencies.

And if this wasn't an emergency, Cornelius didn't know what one was.

* * *

There was a knock at Gilderoy's door. Gilderoy woke up from his bed, checking his watch. The darned thing was broken.

So was the radio alarm clock.

His entire room was trashed. Ransacked.

"Holy–" he said, interrupted by another knock.

_"OPEN THE DOOR YOU AUSSIE PIECE OF TRASH!" _yelled a British voice.

"How polite," Gilderoy said. "I'm not even Australian." He yelled that at the man behind the door.

_"OPEN THE DOOR ANYWAY!"_ yelled the man known as Number One–not that Gilderoy knew it.

"Uh, who is it?"

Gilderoy was trying to get dressed; he didn't want a man to see him naked.

Then he saw the masked face hanging in front of the window. And a hand was trying to cover it.

The hand looked pretty hairy.

Gilderoy had forgotten to close the blinds last night.

_Oh great,_ Gilderoy told himself. _Now that's just wrong,_ Number Four thought to himself. _Yuck..._

Number Four shut his eyes; but the mask was cursed to where he saw everything, even with his eyes shut.

_This is one of the rare times I hate being part of the Five._

* * *

"Did you look through the door, guys?" Number One asked Number Three and Two, standing next to him behind the door.

"You're sick, Number One," Number Two told Number One. Only in private by themselves did they refer to each other by their real names.

"It's not my fault he sleeps naked," Number One stated.

"Where's Number Five? Wasn't he just with us?" Number Three asked.

"I think he just threw up."

"Oh."

* * *

The door fell to splinters and collapsed on the floor. Gilderoy had a splinter in his finger, and he was greeted by three men in business suits wearing what appeared to be gas masks.

The television was also on.

"And in other news, _The National Enquirer_ is claiming to also have an interview with Gilderoy Lockhart–" said the reporter on the television, but no one heard it. They were all too busy yelling.

The television was somehow broken in the midst of the confusion. "Who are you?" asked Number One. "Are you Gilderoy Lockhart?"

"I believe the question that should be asked is 'Who are _you?' _You just don't go busting my doorand expect me not to ask who the heck you are!"

"We are the Five, sent by the Ministry–" Number Two began to say, only to be knocked over the head by Number Three. Number One performed a quick memory charm on Gilderoy.

"We're your new landlords. Come with us; we've gotta take you somewhere," Number One said.

"No," Gilderoy stated. He threw an upper cut at Number One's jaw. Number One threw off his mask immediately after Gilderoy's fist collided with his chin.

The blood was all over Gilderoy's hand. Gilderoy examined it with a sense of pride before Number One responded back with a punch.

Number One's face was horribly scarred, with one scar starting at the hairline, then going down the nose, all the way to the upper lip.

Gilderoy kicked him right below the waist, and it appeared that Number One had forgotten about a cup in the morning.

"Oh, G–" Gilderoy slammed the man's head with a glass vase Gilderoy grabbed; it was very clear they were sent to kill him.

By the Ministry.

Number One fell to the floor; it was safe to assume he was pretty much dead, considering his head was bleeding.

Number Two and Number Three attacked Gilderoy at once. Gilderoy ducked, and being as agile as he was, was able to grab a shard of glass. It was about five inches long.

And with one swift motion he rose to Number Two's face, ripped off the mask with his right hand, and shoved the glass in the man's right eye.

"Holy–" Gilderoy stepped on his toe, Number Three fainted, and Number Two screamed in pain.

He also called Gilderoy a very bad name. Gilderoy responded by kicking the man in the stomach and calling it back to him.

Number Two could no longer see out of his right eye. Gilderoy almost smiled.

Then he let in, smiled, and laughed.

* * *

Number Four watched from outside the window, unable to do anything, and hearing the purely evil laugh of Gilderoy Lockhart.

"He's insane."

* * *

Gilderoy Lockhart burned the bodies. He didn't feel evil.

He felt depressed.

Regret was the thing to blame.

"Why?" he asked himself the Monday after. "Why did I do that? It's not right!"

He turned on the television, and on it was his smiling picture. "What the..."

"And in the news is the first ever _true_ story to come from the tabloids, the story of Gilderoy Lockhart and the Ministry of Magic," said the Australian newswoman.

This was a show broadcast all around Australia, _Worldwide News._

"Here is footage taken by Don Vinicci, tabloid reporter, of Gilderoy performing magic."

There it was. _"Lumos."_ Gilderoy fell from his chair.

"What have I done?" Gilderoy asked out loud.

* * *

The Ministry have magic had only two surviving members of the Five. The Five was disbanded, and its two remaining members rejoined the Sirs.

The Ministry was beginning to form a plan of attack...

* * *

"Gilderoy, come back to work for us," said the voice on the phone. "You've been gone four months, and you were a real leader. _Please_ come back. I don't care if you are a wizard or whatnot. Heck, it'd probably help us. Top office, top desk, top secretaries. What do ya' say?"

Gilderoy thought for a moment..._No, no chance at that..._

"Yeah, sure I'll work for you. Give me about a week to get ready."

"Thanks, Gil. Or is it Gilderoy? Or Lennie? I'm confused."

"Don't be, Jon. Gilderoy's my name..."

There was a knock at the door, and Gilderoy abruptly hung up the phone–on accident.

_"This is the police! Open up!"_

_Author's Note: Hey, I hope you liked! It's a bit short - I know - and a bit fast paced- I know, too! - but I think that it's best to have a bit of ambiguity to the thing. Maybe I'm wrong, but I'm very proud of this story.  
  
Also, if you are offended by the violence, TOO BAD. I think it is necessary to show that while this guy is sane a lot, he's insane when provoked. He's an animal on the inside. Besides, I write violence good.  
  
Also, the Golden Toad nominations have begun. You can go vote for _Informed_ (well, I'd like for you to! Best new look perhaps) or any other fic right over there: [www.geocities.com/toadawards][1] Well?  
  
Also, I can't live without my reviews! So, well...maybe you could click that little box at the bottom and type in what you think...  
  
Thanks and bye!_

   [1]: http://www.geocities.com/toadawards



	5. The End of a Crisis

Informed

Chapter 5: The End of A Crisis

"The police?" Gilderoy said.

His day was going horrible.

"Yes, this is the police; but we can't show you our badge unless you open the bloody door!"

Gilderoy apparated away to the street.

* * *

There was a cold rain outside; it felt like hail as a matter of fact. Cars went up and down the street, and the wind blew a harsh chill right into Gilderoy's face.

"Taxi!" Gilderoy yelled. "Taxi, taxi!"

The taxi stopped on the curb, spewing water on Gilderoy's clothes. Gilderoy stepped in and shut the door quickly.

_"GET THE HECK OUT OF HERE!"_

"Yes, Sir, blonde-haired man." The driver slammed the gas pedal, and Gilderoy was thrust back in his seat.

"Whoa, you don't gotta go that fast!" Gilderoy said as they rounded the corner, heading into the heart of Sydney.

* * *

The door fell on the ground, and three policemen appeared in the door frame.

"Dang it, he ain't here," said the tallest. Almost at once, they changed in physical appearance.

To wizards.

"Search the apartment," said the head, who had just spoken a moment ago. His name was Sam Raimi.

He was a Sir.

"Okay, Tim, I want you to go down to the street, chase that bloody idiot as far as you can. Killing him would be wonderful. We'll search his room."

"Aye, Sam." And with that, Tim Robbins ran out the room.

Sam Raimi was a tall, wiry man with a thick beard and thin-framed glasses. His cloak was a dark black, as was his wand. His current companion, Leonard Nimoy, was a short stocky man with red hair and green eyes.

"Leonard, go search the kitchen. Maybe he's got some kind of plan of action or something..."

* * *

There was a bum on the street, walking in front of the cab. The cabbie made a sharp left turn, struggling to avoid the bum.

But the bum jumped on top of the taxi. "What the–" said the driver aloud.

He slammed on the brakes; and Gilderoy was thrust forward, glad he was wearing a seatbelt. The cabbie threw his door open and walked on top of the car.

"Get off my car, you little bloody–" There was abrupt silence as Gilderoy saw the cabbie's body fall to the ground. Gilderoy jumped to the front seat and slammed the front door closed. He put on his seatbelt and stepped on the gas.

The bum fell of the car, hit the street, and then was run over by a Volkswagen Jetta.

Gilderoy rounded the corner, only to hear someone call the word "taxi."

* * *

"I think he did this all from off the top of his head," Sam said after thirty minutes of searching. "He's not even obsessed with himself at all!"

"You're right," Leonard said. "But maybe we should go on foot and catch Gilderoy."

"Well, get ready for the run, my main man. It's gonna be a long one."

* * *

"Downtown Sydney, the Koala Building please," said the Aussie Gilderoy had the pleasure of driving.

"Will do," Gilderoy said. _Where is the Koala Building? Maybe I should just kill this guy and get myself into even _more_ trouble...no, can't do that...I'll just ask for directions...no, that's wrong...what–_

"Do you need directions?" the man in the back asked. " 'Cause I can give them to you if you need them."

"Oh no, that's okay. I'm perfectly fine," Gilderoy said seconds before running into a Ford Taurus.

His passenger was not wearing a seatbelt, and was subsequently killed upon impact. Gilderoy managed to apparate away.

* * *

At the foot of the apartment building, agents Nimoy and Raimi loaded their guns. They were also very much invisible.

"I've got a location lock on him," Nimoy stated. Nimoy was now much taller and skinnier.

"Good, now let's apparate away..."

* * *

Gilderoy Lockhart sat in a Burger King, not half as greasy as the McDonald's.

"A Whopper, please," he ordered.

"Would you like a combo?" asked the woman behind the counter.

"Yes," Gilderoy said with calmness.

He paid for his meal, took it, and ate with as much calmness as he could muster.

Then a man flew through the glass of a window to Gilderoy's right, landing on the table of a booth. The booth was covered in blood as was a man's hamburger.

There were screams everywhere.

Gilderoy casually walked away before a man holding a gun began to shoot.

* * *

"Here's your ticket, Sir. Houston, Texas, USA, right?"

"Yes, thank you." Gilderoy grabbed the airplane ticket and rushed to the bathroom. There had been such a frantic pace to his life right now he hadn't had time to use the restroom.

* * *

"Where is he now?" asked Sam Raimi to Leonard Nimoy. Leonard shrugged.

"He's doing something to avoid the spell. I can't figure it out. God, he's too smart for us," Leonard stated.

Leonard punched Gilderoy's mattress. They had a job: to kill Gilderoy Lockhart. They were going to get fired and blacklisted from future Ministry jobs if they didn't find him.

More than the future of the wizard world was at stake here.

"I've got a lock. No wonder we couldn't find him..."

* * *

All stalls were taken. Every single thing, even the little things you stood up for and answered Nature in were taken.

Gilderoy really had to go.

Then a stall opened.

And Gilderoy recognized the man who had just done his business.

He ran out the door.

* * *

_I don't think I'll be going to meet her..._ Gilderoy surveyed his surroundings, trying to come up with an escape plan.

He ran back to the ticket counter.

"Refund my ticket now!" he yelled after skipping the entire line. The attendant smiled pleasantly.

"You're going to have to wait in line, Sir."

_"MY NAME IS GILDEROY LOCKHART, I'M BEING CHASED BY TWO MEN WITH GUNS TRYING TO KILL ME, AND I WANT MY MONEY BACK!_ Is that too much to ask?"

"It says on here your name is Lennie Gil," the attendant said.

"Okay, tell me this: do I look like Gilderoy Lockhart? Do I sound like him?"

"Yes, Sir, you do."

"Then refund my stupid ticket!" Gilderoy demanded, banging his fist on the counter.

"You'll have to wait in line, Sir."

_Screw it,_ thought Gilderoy. He ran out the automatic doors.

Moments later, two men with guns were running into the very area Gilderoy had just exited.

* * *

Gilderoy knew his time was running out. In a few minutes, he knew the Ministry would catch up with him.

He got on a bus as calmly as possible, paying the fare as calmly as possible, and sitting as calmly as possible.

No faces were attracted to his presence. No matter how famous he was now, he was not a well-known face.

"Hi," Gilderoy said to the woman sitting next to him as he sat down in his seat.

"Hello," she said with an Australian accent. "Oh my God, you're–"

"Don't tell please," Gilderoy ordered, putting a hand over her mouth. "I'm having a bit of trouble."

"Oh, don't worry, I got a gun," the woman said.

"What?" Gilderoy asked, appalled. "This is a freaking airport!"

"Oh shut up, if you were an MI6 agent you'd have one, too," she said with a British accent.

The woman's body suddenly changed into that of a man with a black cloak.

It was a Sir.

Gilderoy ran. The Sir pulled out a gun and laughed. All over the bus, people began to scream. Gilderoy tried to apparate, but he couldn't. There were apparation nets set up around the bus.

"Shoot," Gilderoy said as he saw the trigger being pulled.

And suddenly, everything stopped.

The world spun around Gilderoy. A soft chorus began to play in his ears. There were bright flashes of light everywhere.

He could see himself getting born...from his own viewpoint...his first day at school...breaking his arm...his first published book...the Chamber of Secrets...jumping out of a window in an asylum...everything from his life...it was all there...in his mind...

His life flashing past him took only about three seconds.

Then he had to face reality. He heard a gunshot. It echoed in his ears repeatedly as he stood there. There was nothing he could do. Nothing at all.

People around him stared, opened their mouths and said things. But all Gilderoy could hear was the gunshot...and a soft angelic chorus growing louder and louder...

And then he saw her. Felicia...she was waving to him. "Goodbye," she said. It was a beautiful sound, and it joined the sounds in his ear...repeating...

_Goodbye, my love,_ he thought as he was hit in the chest. He fell to the ground, clutching his heart.

He felt his heart beating...it was slowing down all too quickly...he didn't want to go...he wasn't going to harm anyone anymore...this thing that had happened...it was just a misunderstanding...it was just revenge...a temper tantrum...

But yet it felt good. He felt as if he had done good. Was it revenge? He thought for a moment as everything slowed down...the movements of people on the bus were slower and slower...

_Goodbye, my love..._

* * *

"Don't move, or I'll shoot you all!" said the Sir on the bus. People were eerily silenced after seeing the death of the man who had shown wizards to Muggles.

"I am with the Ministry of Magic! My name is Joe. Just Joe," said the man, whose Sir name was Sam Raimi.

Of course, some Muggles would see the connection; so he had to change his name.

Sam vaporized the body with a flick of his wand. It was gone forever, not to even receive a burial.

"Stare at my wand, or I kill you all."

* * *

Orson Welles smiled to himself. He was, of course, the head Sir. The top dog.

No matter how much the Minister didn't want it, Orson Welles's Sirs had just stopped Gilderoy Lockhart.

Now there was the question of cleanup. Orson needed the budget.

He opened the door, catching the Minister making out with a woman. _Surprise, surprise..._thought Orson.

"Hi, I'm Monica," said the slightly overweight woman. They ceased what they were doing.

"Hi, Monica, I'm Orson. Give me a ring whenever you want."

Monica smiled and left. Apparently she and Cornelius hadn't even got past first base.

Not that Orson knew anything about baseball. He was, after all, very British.

"Minister Fudge, did I catch you at the wrong time?" Orson asked as Monica closed the door.

"Of course not. I was discussing the budget surplus."

"And what I just saw was?" Orson asked, smiling.

"A dare," Orson responded quickly. And with confidence.

"Do you get dared like that all the time?" Orson asked.

"Of course not. This was the first time."

_The first...hmm...maybe I should go public..._

"Well, we need a big budget to do the cleanup work, now that Gilderoy Lockhart is dead," Orson said, smiling. "Apparently I can do more than take up space and yell at you. I do run the Sirs."

"You Sirs are mavericks. I specifically specified bringing him back here for questioning!" Cornelius yelled. He reached across the desk and slapped Orson in the face.

_"Cornelius,"_ Orson began, "what the heck was that for? The man is insane! He killed over half of the Five!"

"I do not care! Just–"

"His thought pattern is not correct. He is a threat to Ministry security. We had no choice. Sam Raimi shot him. Don't blame me, blame him!"

"You ordered it, Welles."

"Okay, I come in here to ask for a budget increase and get this! All I want is enough money to fund the idea we've got! Otherwise, we'll pretty much have to go from house to house to delete the minds of the world!"

"Okay," Fudge said. "Let me hear your idea..." _I hate Pureblood Party members, _Fudge thought. _All they want is money..._

* * *

All across the world, people logged onto their computers or turned on the television.

Only one thing was on their televisions. They could only get on one website, and they were being treated to streaming video. (A very fast connection.) There was a man's smiling face on the screen. He was dressed sharply.

He was dressed sharply for a Muggle. To wizards the man's name was Orson Welles. To Muggles, he was unknown.

"Hi," the man said. "I'm sure you're trying to find something else to do. There is literally, just one thing on. The world is glued to the media, and I figured this would be the best way to address you.

"Hey, you're even pretty much glued to your seats." The people quite literally were.

All over the world, one man spoke in hundreds of languages. He even appeared in the sky. It was almost as if he was God.

Some people believed he was.

"Most of you know about Gilderoy Lockhart, the greatest liar on Earth." All over the world, people screamed. How could this man be the greatest liar on Earth?

"Yes, I know you are all very mad. But it is true. Gilderoy Lockhart continually lied...deleted people's memories...all for the sake of fame. Yes, it's true. He was the Tom Cruise of wizards."

_What a reference,_ Orson thought to himself.

"His face was instantly recognizable...his books published as nonfiction, when they really were fiction. He was also like Tom Clancy, if you wanna say that." _Lots of Toms..._

"But I am here to address one problem: the wizard world and the Muggle world are not one. 'Now who are Muggles?' you ask. Well, _you_ are Muggles. Yes, you the viewer.

"The wizard world–at least most of it–does not want to do with your world. Sure, we've got our fair share of problems, but I have a feeling that in the future you will not even know what you want...you won't be able to elect the president of the United States! That is my prophecy.

"Not that you'll be able to remember any of this monologue. Yes, you won't remember any of it.

"None. Zippo. Nada. Absolute zero. Zero percent. Yes, you won't remember any of this.

"Have I told you enough yet? The suspense is building, and I know all of the world is wondering 'Will this give me cancer?' No, it won't. It has no apparent side effects beside erasing your mind.

"And that's not much of a side effect.

"So, good Muggle people of Earth, I, Orson Welles, tell you to stare at my stick. The one I'm holing in the air. The black one. The one in front of me. Yes, that is how you do it..."

Orson's heart was racing. No one had ever tried a mass memory charm like this.

He muttered the spell under his breath, and all over the world people's memories were being replaced according to region.

Orson had succeeded.

It was the end of a crisis.

* * *

Felicia Alberta awoke from her dream. She was in no Ministry holding cell; she never had been. But it had been in her dream.

But what were dreams? What was reality? She could feel Gilderoy's mind...as it began to turn evil...it was a bond between them...a bond of love...

Felicia was living in America now. She was a doctor. In Seattle, Washington. She had left the Ministry.

But even if she loved the man, she couldn't feel too sure about his feelings. Violence was what he had been resorting to.

She had felt his death. And no matter how much she loved him, she thought it was fitting.

_If you are going to cause pain, you might as well go down with it._

* * *

That evening, no one mourned Gilderoy Lockhart. No one could really care less. It was a sad, horrible thing for some; but he was all but forgotten.

One man once said good will always conquer evil. However, did good conquer evil? Who was good? Who was evil?

The world has completely split over everything. And as a great wise man once said, one day we may not be able to choose the leader of the free world.

Good and evil will always fight. But only one will triumph...

_Author's Note: I'm done! Cheer, the few that read! I wonder if this was good or not...uh I had to comment on the state of the election at 10:00 CST, Tuesday, November 8, 2000. It's just weird._

_Anyway, was this final chapter worth the wait? I'd like to know...I'm very tired, too...so no long author's note here._

_Until next time..._


End file.
